Of Oil and Ticks
by VoodooInTheTARDIS
Summary: First in the "Hell's Angels" series. Daryl gets unwittingly dragged into a discussion on the finer points of skinning a carcass and of the joys that can ensue when done improperly. One-shot. T for some Dixon-esque language.


Author's Note: This is the first story from the "Hell's Angels" collection I've been contemplating that I'm willing to publish. Let me know what you think! I know that you don't know who Allie is or anything like that, but if you enjoy this you might just come to know her a lot better! ;)

"Is it true?  
Daryl looked up from the carcass to see a shock of red hair. He raised his eyebrows at her, the hand holding the knife stilling. "What?" he asked as Allie sat down on the log next to him.

She pulled the hood of her sweatshirt higher over her neck, huddling closer into its warmth as she fixed him with a curious expression. "A friend of mine told me that if, when you're skinning a deer or an elk, you miss any of the hair and don't get it off, it ruins it. Like even just one little hair will ruin a piece of meat about this big." She held her hands in a circle a few inches wide. "Is it true?"

Perplexed, he gave her a quick nod, and returned his gaze to his task, his hands following the familiar movements easily. "Yeah. It's true." He told her. She nodded slowly.

"Something to do with the oils right?"

"Mmmhmm." He nodded again, surprised at her interest. Maybe she was just trying to make conversation. It had been another rough day, with tensions in the group running high. Most of them weren't talking to each other, saying only the bare minimum to communicate their needs.

Personally, Daryl liked the silence. It was comfortable to him. Of course, over the last few months the needless chatter had grown on him somewhat. Whenever Beth and Maggie would prattle on about this or that, or Carl would pester Rick or Hershel with a million and one questions, Daryl would let their voices wash over him, comforting and lulling him into a relaxed state. He didn't have to pay attention to the meaningless things they were talking about— he didn't have to care— but the fact that their voices were heard, that they were talking, joking, laughing, and asking meant that they were _alive _and with him. 

He was aware however, that not every one was like him in that aspect. And while the little redheaded girl was more like him then say Beth, even she had a limit to how much stressful non-communication she could endure. Realizing that they had lapsed into silence, he elaborated for her sake. _Best not let her mind wander… not after what happened…Keep her focused on something, anything. _

"Yeah. See elk and deer have these oils they secrete into their furs, keep the rain off 'em in the wet season, give 'em a little bit of relief from the cold and damp. But that ain't the only thing." Grimacing, he tossed a fresh piece of gunk into the nearby "Bucket o' Fun", which he'd dump a safe way from camp later on. "They also secrete these like pheromone things, for attracting mates. Stinks to high hell and worse, even when they're alive, but dead and on the meat yer gonna eat? Forget about it." He made an exaggerated "ick" face at her, tossing more fur into the bucket. "Don't wanna eat fur anyway do ya?"

She shook her head vigorously.

"Didn't think so."

"Like I said, I just heard it from a friend one time. Seemed silly to me too. I mean its like you'd naturally want to remove all the gross non-edibles before chowing down. I dunno maybe people just got lazy sometimes or stupid and just didn't go through the meat thoroughly? That's how horror stories like that start I guess."

Daryl nodded. "Or doin' it while drunk."

Allie let out a guffaw. "Who'd be skinning a carcass while drunk? Cut off your own damn finger…" she trailed off as he gave her a look as if to say "You serious?"

"My daddy and Merle went out huntin' and skinnin' plenty of times while shit-faced. Took me with 'em. I had to learn how to do it properly real quick since they'd be the assholes leavin' the hair on. Ate a piece one time with the hair in it. I was sick for a week." He nearly grinned remembering the shiner he gave to Merle for that one. It had been the one time his Pa had let him get away with it, without decking him too.

"Still…" he continued. "Wasn't half as bad as the one time I bit straight into the tick one of them had missed." He fixed her with an amused look as her face became pinched and she wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"Ew! Really?"

"Mmmhmm. Bit right into the middle of the damn thing. Heard it go 'crunch' 'n all. Fuckin' sour as all hell and stunk nearly as bad as the fur."

"Yummy."  
"You bet." He tossed her a chunk of meat, barely holding back a grin as she look ready to vomit all over it, the blood now covering her hands and splattering her clothes. "Wanna double check that for any hair I missed?" he asked wryly.


End file.
